User blog:Squibstress/Come Autumn, Sae Pensive (1967) - Chapter 3
Title: Come Autumn, Sae Pensive (1967) Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama Warning/s: Explicit sexual situations; character death Published: 02/06/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Three The days wore on, and Minerva started to feel better. Her nausea had gone, and she had regained some of her normal energy. It was summer, which meant that Albus was able to spend many nights with her in her quarters. This was an all-too-rare occurrence during term, and they both relished the chance the school holidays gave them to be together. He fussed over her, making sure she ate enough and that she didn’t spend too much time on her feet. In truth, while she thought it was quite sweet of him, she quickly began to tire of it. While Albus was always considerate and kind, she was not accustomed to being treated like a delicate flower, and she couldn’t help getting annoyed with his constant attentions. But she said nothing because she knew it pleased him to take care of her. The only thing he wouldn’t do for her, it seemed, was fuck her. They went to bed together, and he touched her with his hands and his mouth, and let her do the same to him, but he would not do what she really wanted. Whenever she moved to complete their joining, he would shift away and find a different part of her body to explore. Whatever he did was wonderful; it just wasn’t enough. On the fifth occasion it happened, Minerva decided to take the bull by the horns. “Albus, why won’t you make love to me?” she asked, as he was kissing her thighs, moving ever upward toward her centre. “I thought that’s what I was doing, my love,” he murmured. “No, Albus, I mean properly,” she said, shifting her bottom up and away from his head. He sat up and looked at her. “Don’t you like this?” Answering her question with a question again. “Yes, of course, it’s lovely. But I miss having you inside me,” she answered, pulling on his shoulders to bring him up to her level so she could look at him. He kissed her, but she knew he was trying to think of an answer. She forced herself to ask: “Do you not want me anymore? Because of the baby?” She wasn’t sure why this should be so—her body had not changed much yet—but she needed to ask. “Gods, no, Minerva. I want you. I just wasn’t sure you wanted me in that way right now.” “Of course I do,” she answered, still perplexed. “Why wouldn’t I?” “I thought you might prefer to avoid anything getting too near the baby,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “As impressive as you are, Albus, you overestimate the size of your wand. It isn’t big enough to get anywhere near the baby.” He ignored her gentle teasing. “I just wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt you or the baby,” he said. “You won’t,” she said firmly. “Poppy said it was fine as long as we’re careful and I’m not having any pains or bleeding.” “I’m not sure how I feel about you discussing the details of our intimate life with Poppy.” “I don’t discuss the details with her,” Minerva said, irritated. “She offered the information. She is, after all, my mediwitch. And yours as well, please to remember.” “And she’s your friend,” he added. “Yes, but you know she would never break a confidence, either professional or personal.” “Of course not, I wasn’t implying that,” he replied. “I just meant that I might have a bit of trouble looking her in the eye in the next staff meeting if I knew she had heard all the details about what we get up to when we’re alone,” he said, smiling. “Not to worry, Albus. I haven’t shared the depths of your depravity with her,” she said, no longer annoyed. “Mine?” he said, raising an eyebrow at her. “Of course. As everyone knows, I am a very proper witch. I simply allow you to use me to satisfy your carnal appetites.” She knew he loved it when she played the stern professor with him. “I see. And you don’t enjoy it at all,” he murmured, his lips against hers, pressing his body to her. “No, not a bit,” she answered, running her hands over his back and arse as he kissed her neck and moved his hands over her breasts. “Not one bit,” she repeated as she reached down to stroke him, gently leading him into position at her entrance. “Not at all,” she whispered in his ear as he slid into her slowly. “Not at … ah, Albus …” she moaned as he began to move slowly within her. “Yes, my love, there … right there is where I need you,” she cried when he had filled her completely. She came thirty seconds later, when he increased his speed, putting pressure on her swollen pearl. He continued to move in and out, and she knew he was holding back, trying to be gentle; usually by this point in their coupling, he was losing control, thrusting into her hard and fast as he approached his climax. She wanted it—his vigour often brought her to orgasm that way—and she wanted to buck her hips up to meet and encourage him, but she waited this time, knowing that he was trying to protect her and their child with this unaccustomed reserve, and she loved him for it, and for a million other things besides. She felt him still for a moment, then he thrust once more and shuddered, releasing his breath, warm and sweet, on her face. She kissed his mouth, then he carefully shifted off of her, pulling her into the crook of his arm. “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asked. His laugh rumbled up from deep within his chest. “No. Not so bad, Professor. How did I do?” “‘A’ for Acceptable, Mr Dumbledore. You need to strive for greater concision in your attack,” she replied. “I rather thought I’d hit the mark directly.” “Almost. Not to worry; there’s always next term, Mr Dumbledore.” “Speaking of term …” he said. “Oh, dear. I wish I hadn’t mentioned it.” “We need to decide when we’re going to share our news with the staff and students,” he reminded her. “Staff sooner, I should think,” she answered. “We’ll need to make some kind of arrangements for someone to take my classes when the baby comes. They might have some suggestions. Do you think Filius would be willing to act as Deputy again for a few weeks?” Albus had hired Filius as Charms master and Deputy Headmaster when he rose to the Headmaster’s post. Filius was effective enough but hadn’t cared for the position much. It interfered with his research, he said when he approached the Headmaster about stepping down seven years after assuming the post. Albus had coerced a reluctant Minerva to take his place. She had been surprised to find she enjoyed most of the duties the post entailed. There were any number of administrative tasks, which the supremely efficient Professor McGonagall could accomplish easily, as well as more pleasant ones. The Deputy Head was responsible for checking the names of magical children recorded in Hogwarts’s roll book, and Minerva took pleasure in sending the yearly owls inviting those turning eleven to attend Hogwarts, remembering the thrill she had got when she received her letter. She was also in charge of the annual sorting of first-years into their Houses at the start-of-term feast. She enjoyed making private guesses as to the Sorting Hat’s decisions, based on her brief observation of each child as he or she approached the stool, some eager, some frightened, some shy, but all fresh and new and full of potential. She was right about half the time, which she found to be a good reminder that first impressions aren’t always the right ones. She often wondered how she had appeared all those years ago when she had marched gamely up and sat while Professor Dumbledore placed the Sorting Hat on her head. She had asked him once and was only a little disappointed when he told her he couldn’t remember. She didn’t remember precisely what she had first thought of him, either. The present-day Dumbledore said, “I think Filius will be willing to help, provided he doesn’t have to attend any board meetings or Ministry functions. I’ll speak to him privately when he gets back, then perhaps we can inform the rest of the staff at our first staff meeting of term. Does that seem reasonable?” “Indeed. What about the students?” Minerva asked. “I think you should decide when you want to tell them. Just don’t wait until it becomes too obvious,” he said, resting a careful hand on her belly. “Can you just imagine the rumours?” she laughed. “On the whole, I think I’d rather not,” he said, grinning. ~oOo~ She had got up late the next morning in a pensive mood. Their exchange the previous night had awoken a faint but nagging anxiety that she couldn’t shake. She had known in theory that having a child would change many things, but thus far, all her thoughts had been on the concrete and practical. How would she manage her classes and her child? How much of her academic career would she lose to motherhood? How much of the already-scant time she had alone with Albus would go by the wayside? What she hadn’t considered, and what she was only now coming to see would be just as significant—if not more so—were the intangible changes motherhood would make in herself and in her relationships with others. In the light of morning, she suspected that Albus’s reluctance to engage in intercourse had been about more than a fear of harming their baby. She was changing from wife and lover into the mother of his child—a category that was at once more and less than the sum of its parts. It was a sort of Russell’s paradox, she thought. There were other relationships to consider. Her friends—how would Amelia, for instance, react to Minerva’s motherhood? Would she and Minerva remain as close as sisters, or would the new difference between them create an uncrossable gulf of unshared experience? And her colleagues, would they resent the additional strain her absence, however temporary, would place on them? Would they think her a fool for allowing her career to take second place to her child? Of course, it had always taken second place to her marriage, but since she and Albus were discreet about their personal relationship, it was easy for her and for them to pretend otherwise. A baby was different. Its immediate, physical need of her would require a public declaration of priorities and loyalties. She disliked on instinct the notion of being so easily read. What about her students? How would they react to learning that they were not all she had? Not first—or even second—in her sight? She was beginning to realise that her life was going to change more completely and irrevocably, and in more ways, than she had anticipated. Minerva McGonagall was not accustomed to feeling unprepared, and she didn’t like it. Not one bit. ← Back to Chapter 2 On to Chapter 4→ Category:Chapters of Come Autumn, Sae Pensive (1967)